


Counting.

by NormanBabcock



Category: BoJack Horseman
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canonical Character Death, Drug Abuse, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7744813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NormanBabcock/pseuds/NormanBabcock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bojack starts counting in the first time in a really long time. Gets drunk again, probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting.

**Author's Note:**

> !! MAJOR SPOILER WARNINGS FOR SEASON 3 FINALE ! ! 
> 
> Please don't read this if you haven't finished season 3, and if you're just curious, well, you were warned I guess??

You're not really a counter of things. You used to be, since counting was something that we as beings on this planet, are told that we should do so from our early developmental ages, but you stopped years ago. This is the first time you've ever really found yourself counting.

It has been seven days, three hours, twenty minutes, and fifty two seconds since Sarah Lynn died.

The alcohol isn't helping. Not that it ever truly did, but even more so this time. Every time you hold your arm out, just a little, you feel her weight against your side. A mix between heavy, yet light as a feather. You remember looking up at the dome ceiling, round and seemingly sheltered, where you were hoping that, in this moment, you had a person to find solace in, a comfort in a universe of incredible, terrifying uncaring. You remember the smell of her hair, something akin to some stupidly expensive shampoo, and champagne, and vodka, that she'd poured over her head. You laughed when she did that, and you laughed when she did so many other things. 

You can remember her real laugh on your set. Sometimes you made her laugh, sometimes the kids did, but you can't count how many times you heard it. You weren't counting anymore then. You feel the weight of your glass bottle in your hand, light and empty, demanding another to come and replace it, and you'll do that, but you lay on your bed, and you continue to count the minutes.

You picture the face of that sweet girl, so young and fresh to an industry of teeth and claws, painted with make up and nail polish, reeking of absinthe and cocaine, ready to drag her down into the never ending cycle of so many before her. Women and men all coaxed into a sense of Godliness, only to be met with the crushing realizations of loneliness, and how forgetful they truly are. Will she continue to pursue this nightmare after you ran out? Will she not see your panic, not see it as a warning, but as nothing more than a man who hasn't had his daily coffee handed to him by his beautiful assistant? You don't know, but you hope she never comes back, not wanting to again, breed an innocent child to an industry that takes the beauty of human growth, and speeds it up, destroys it, smashes it and ravages it, and you can't even remember her name. 

You think of how many minutes would be passing in Sarah Lynn's life had you not called her. An hour would pass of her continuing to suffer through her sobriety, where she would wait for you, or anyone, to call her for a massive party. Another hour would pass of her getting ready to go to her meeting, which would be later that day, and she would be nine months clean. Would she have decided that was fine then? She wasn't cured, she couldn't be, but she would still be alive.

You wonder if you wouldn't have called her, would someone else have? You think, if it wasn't me, and someone else would have sent her on that long, painful bender, would she at least be alive after it? Would she have died in the arms of another, and would they have cared?

Would you have cared?

You don't know, and that guilt weighs you down more than anything has in days you quit counting, until now. 

Seven days, four hours, ten minutes, and thirty seconds. You get up, you need a drink.


End file.
